A Day In Each Year: Age 2
by ishippeditovernight
Summary: Dean catches Cas reading their daughter's bedtime story... even after she's fallen asleep. Part 2 of the ADIEY series. Total unadulterated fluff. :P


Part II of A Day In Each Year. Also posted on ao3. Each story is a standalone for the most part, but I do try to keep continuity.

[Background: Cas and Dean are married. (Yay!) They adopted Dessie when she was about 7 months old. They currently live in the Bunker; Sam has a house very close nearby with Amelia and their son Robbie and daughter Maryann. Robbie is 3 years older than Dessie, and Dessie is 3 years older than Maryann.

Unspecified time, but Cas is still an angel, and the trials / humanized Cas / Metatron / Mark of Cain / etc don't play any part. So it's kind of AU after mid-season 8.] 

**Bedtime Story (age 2)**

"Robbie _what_?" Dean splutters, leaning back in his seat and laughing, face tilted up towards the ceiling.

"Dean, I'm not kidding," Sam says from the other end of the phone. "It was actually pretty close to what _our_ tattoos look like. It almost could have worked as an actual sigil, if we didn't have the necklace for him and needed something."

"In permanent marker. What, like someone left a Sharpie out and he just went at it?" He sits up and folds one foot under his knee.

Sam _mm-hmm_s. "Yeah, Amelia wasn't real happy with him for it, but… When she left the room, I fixed the lines a little bit. You know, if it's gonna be lasting a while, it might as well be correct…"

Dean snorts. "Well, he'll be safe at least. Extra safe."

"He said…" There's a pause; he can imagine his brother holding back another laugh. "He said he wanted a tattoo like Daddy's."

"That's amazing," Dean says. "So how did you guys deal with that?"

Sam coughs. "Sent him to his room, no toys for half an hour. It's annoying, but it'll wear off in a few—wait, hang on." His voice loses volume. "_Yeah_?" he calls, probably to Amelia. "_All right, I'm about done here so_… Dean, I'm gonna have to go. He's out of the bath and ready for bedtime."

"Okay," Dean says. "Give Robbie and Amelia a hug for me."

"I will. Night, Dean. Same to Cas and Dessie."

"Good night, Sammy." Dean ends the call and tosses the phone onto the table, putting his foot back onto the floor and then standing up.

Speaking of bedtime. How long has Cas been in the room with Dessie? Surely she's asleep by now. It's got to be past 8:30 by now. Dean checks his watch. Yahtzee – it's 8:44.

He glances into their bedroom as he wanders down the hall, but Cas isn't there, and Dean knows he's not in the kitchen or main room. "Cas?" he calls, listening for his husband's bass-deep voice reading that silly book about all the crap that happened after a bug sneezed (Dessie's current favorite).

A quiet shushing sound floats through the doorway of their daughter's bedroom.

Dean pads into Dessie's room and then pauses to lean against the doorframe. This is ridiculous. He's turning into a goddamn woman or something because holy _shit_…

Cas is still sitting at the headboard, Dessie sleeping in his arms. Her breathing is even enough to indicate that she's finally passed out, but it's not quite even enough that she won't wake up if jostled when Cas gets up and lays her flat. She's getting pretty close, though.

Meanwhile, Cas is still holding a book in his hands, and as Dean watches he carefully thumbs a page over, his Curious Cas expression still on. "This is a very unusual coincidence to cause all of this," he murmurs, confusion in his ridiculously sexy low voice.

"What?" Dean asks softly. "I must've read that thing three times this week. You never read it to her yet?"

Cas glances up. "Not yet, no," he says. And the son of a bitch actually returns to the book like a little kid himself. He looks so stunningly _domestic_, Dean can't even believe it. Reading a children's book and sitting there in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans.

(After two years, it _still_ sometimes surprises Dean that the trench coat is semi-retired, but Cas had pointed out – correctly – that Dessie would pick up on him never changing his clothes. Maybe emulate it. Dessie would never have a _typically_ normal life, but small things like that would make a difference.)

Dean walks in closer and peers at Dessie. "She's probably… You could probably tuck her in now," he says, trying to ignore the very girlish squeeze his heart gives at the sight of his daughter slumped against his husband's elbow, her dark blonde curls in her face. Carefully he reaches forward and brushes them back, away from her nose and eyes. "Yeah, I think she's out."

"I'm done. I was only wondering what all this bug causes," Cas explains. He shuts the book finally, and hands it out to Dean.

Dean's fighting a grin as he returns it to Dessie's bookshelf in the corner. "I coulda told you that," he murmurs, watching Cas take his arm back from around Dessie and gently tuck her in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Practically had it friggin' memorized. I can't believe she had you reading other stuff and I got stuck with it." When Cas steps back, Dean leans in and kisses Dessie's forehead. "Night, kiddo," he whispers, and straightens.

In the main room of the Bunker, the plates from Dean's and Dessie's dinners are still on the table. Dean had made something with chicken and rice and actual _vegetables_. Sammy would be proud. Cas starts picking up the dishes to take them to the kitchen. Dean catches sight of his phone on the light table, and it reminds him of the conversation he'd been having with Sam before the one about Robbie's artistry skills. "Hey, Cas?" he calls to the kitchen over the sound of running water.

The water turns off too early for Cas to have finished already. "What?"

"You ever think about another kid?" Dean asks seriously. "Sam said he and Amelia wanted to try for another. They want a little girl too." He smiles automatically, enjoying the image.

Cas walks back out. "What do _you_ think?" For his part, he seems unsure at the prospect.

Dean shrugs. "Just… I don't know. It feels like it took forever to get approved for Dessie, you know?" He bites his lip. "Probably not take _as_ long, maybe, but still…"

"I think I _would_ like another child," Cas admits, "but there is also a lot to consider. Time. Money. Our lives, this… And whether Dessie would even like the idea herself."

Good point. It hadn't even occurred to Dean to consider posing the question to her and getting her input, and suddenly it strikes him as strange that it hadn't. He looks down for a moment. "Honestly, I'm a little scared every day here," he manages to admit, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Cas. Rests his forehead on Cas's shoulder, unable to say this crap with eye contact. "Constantly worry I'm messing her up somehow. I don't know how I'd manage two."

"You are a _good_ father, Dean," Cas breathes against him, his hands on Dean's back. He pulls back to stare at him. "And you shouldn't doubt yourself."

"Yeah, I'm awesome," Dean smirks. "Number-one Dad, right?"

Cas seems to read the doubt in his eyes, hidden by his bravado, and just gives him that see-right-through-you look before kissing him.

Warmth flows through Dean's entire body, down to his toes, and he fists bits of the back of Cas's shirt. He feels Cas's hands travel up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Their lips slide together in moves that are as familiar and comforting as they are exciting, even after all these years. He can't help himself and lets out a happy little groan, unclenching his hands and pulling Cas closer.

Moments later they break for air, and Dean kisses at a spot on Cas's jaw before pulling back. "Thanks," he says quietly. "You are, too."

There's a pause. Then Cas drops his hands from Dean's hair and asks, "So, just one?"

"Yep." Dean still hasn't let go of Cas's waist. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

They leave the dishes for the next morning.


End file.
